The Pain Of Two Hearts
by ziggbot
Summary: Just a drabble. An idea of what the regular visits between Mary and James were. It's not very long, but it's just a peek into their lives.


He took in a hesitant breath, feeling the cold, conditioned air sweep through his nose and down his throat. He was wearing a coat, and yet he still felt a chill. This reluctance, strongly reverberating in his chest, almost prevented him from opening the door. It was only the fear of people watching that sped up his decision to turn the door knob, and even then, only by a little. it took about thirty seconds in total for him to reach down to the knob, turning it and cracking the door open. The nurse said she was asleep, but he could visit. He was a bit worried when he saw that she wasn't.

She was looking out the window before, as indignant as she had been for the past years that this disease had ravaged her, stealing her from him and placing her in this confinement of a hospital room. When she heard the creak of the door, she turned her head wearily. Her hazel eyes fixed upon him, eying the small bag he held in his hand. It was a gift bag. The words almost failed to escape him when she looked into his eyes. "T-The nurse said you were asleep."

"Disappointed?" she was a bit slow to reply, though a faint bitterness tinted her tone.

He looked down and away, shaking his head. "N-no. I just... I didn't want to disturb you. I.. I wanted to leave this for you. I'm... I'm working today, so I didn't have much time." Her brows furrowed at his explanation, haphazardly tossed out of his mouth like a child barely knowing how to speak. He took far longer to meet her gaze again, and when he did, he regretted it. She looked angry, as if lied to.

"So why are you here then? You can't get fired. If you do, then our insurance would be gone. I'd cost you a fortune."

James was silent.

"I'm not worth the money."

"That's not true." James replied quickly, stepping in just a foot. "Don't say that."

May glared at him. "You know it's true. You only came to visit because you pity me. Pity isn't worth anything." Her hands gasped loosely at the knit blanket over her lap and legs. "I'm not even worth what you got me. Whatever it is." She looked away, her tangled auburn hair catching some of the light coming from the window.

James' eyes fell pinned to his boots. "Please don't say that. I..." At a loss for words, he again fell silent. He stepped a few feet closer, putting the bag on the table next to her.

"I don't want it." Mary said plainly.

James plaintively insisted, "P-please. I want you to have it."

There was a pause, filled with wordless tension. Finally, Mary turned around, picking up the small bag and reaching inside. Her hands griped the gift in the bag, and she lifted it out, tugging the tissue paper out of it's previous arrangement and onto her lap. Her eyes widened at the gift. It was a small, gentle toothed paddle brush, meant for delicate hair and sensitive skin. She had seen it before, in drug stores and gift shops. it was delicately ornate, with small designs of rhinestones and glitter in the plastic. "... Why?" She asked, her tone mixed.

James awkwardly shuffled his eyes around the room. "Y-Your hair. I saw how you didn't like it. I don't trust the nurses to brush it. I-It's for sensitive scalps, and-"

Mary fought back the urge to cry, but the anger the urge was cause by was clearly shown. "Damnit, James!" she yelled out. "Do you think I want to even try?!" James stepped back nervously. "What? Do you want me to look pretty for you?! Am I disgusting?! Well, it won't change! Nothing will change. I'll always be this... this monster!"

He shook his head, shoulders tensing as he lifted his hands. "N-no! That's not what I-!"

Mary shut her eyes as she shouted, shaking her head. "Shut up!" She paused for a short sob. "Shut up and get out, James!"

"Mary, I-.. I'm so-" James stopped talking as he saw her lift the arm holding the brush up into the air. Flinching, he shut his eyes, feeling the wind of the object as it flew past his face and hit the wall behind him.

"Go!"

The door was open, and before he even knew it, he was outside of her room, dizzily wading down the hall in an emotional stupor. He heard her cries from behind him, and saw out of his peripheral vision that two nurses passed him by to head to her room. He didn't expect to be let back to visit for the next few days. Not that he wanted to.

He made a sprint for the nearest single bathroom, shutting the door behind him rather roughly. He locked the handle, resting his back flush against the wall he was closest to, and sliding down to sit. He rested his arms on his knees, hanging his head. Here they came, the almost painful tingles in his nose, telling him the tears were on their way. How could he have been so stupid? Of course she wouldn't want a hairbrush, not after all this.

He saw a few of the tear drops fall to the floor, remarking at just how weak he felt to cry. He had no right. She was the one dying. Why should he be allowed to cry? Of course, she had hurt him. Nothing he ever did was right or sufficient in her eyes. It hurt so badly, yet he wasn't allowed to cry. Not the perfectly well husband, who ruins his dying wife's day every time he goes to visit. Not that man. No.

After what felt like much longer than the actual five minutes he spent in that bathroom, James stood up and left, making sure the scarce evidence of tears was completely gone. He made a quick trip to the exit, feeling the sunlight of the late afternoon hit his chest and face as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. He had to calm himself down. Think of other things. Often, what he did to keep calm, was make a list of things to do.

Go back to work.  
Finish my shift.  
Go to the bar.  
Get drunk.  
Go home.  
Sleep.

He repeated the list in his head over and over. The drinking always helped, in its own way. It made the emotions go away. It made him feel lost, and he preferred that to being found.

It was always so much better than being found.


End file.
